the favor (a Harry Styles fanfic)

29. bad habits

Mandy's POV:

When I wake up the next morning, Harry is still sound asleep, his eyes glued shut as his mouth hangs open slightly. He begins to snore for a second, then sniffles, readjusting himself and closing his mouth. The act is not graceful- clearly he wore some sort of eye makeup because there is eyeliner smeared under his bottom lid- and I gently press my finger against him and wipe it off. He does not stir, and I know its because of the drinking that he is so exhausted. Being hungover is exhausting, and what I am truly afraid of is when he wakes up. He will be in the sourest of moods, and I'll be the one to have to care for him.

Oh well. He's done the same for me without a complaint. And besides, how can anyone hate this beautiful sleeping puppy?

I continue to observe him for what seems like an eternity, but in reality it is probably only fifteen minutes at best. He finally wakes up when I attempt to push away a loose curl that has slipped across his forehead. He shuffles around, until very slowly, his eyes peel open and I'm greeted with those familiar evergreen orbs. He blinks several times, and then rolls over, releasing a deep and throaty groan from his lips as he rubs his tired eyes. I laugh out loud, adoring how endearingly juvenile he appears. He looks five years his prior- a young boy awaking from a long nap- and it takes my breath away. After realizing how long I've been staring, he grumbles and turns back to me.

"What are you looking at?" Harry asks in a throaty grunt. I giggle.

"You, baby face. You look adorable."

"Me? In the morning? How?" Harry looks utterly baffled, and I smirk.

"I feel like shit today. My head is pounding, my whole body is aching, my eyes hurt. Why is so attractive about any of this?" Harry runs his hands over his torso as if he is presenting himself, and I shake my head.

"What?" He asks, his tone slightly clipped.

"You're so grumpy when you're hungover. I love it." I confess whist pushing his bangs behind his ears.

"Do you now? Aren't most people grumpy when they've woken up with a killer migraine?" Harry covers his eyes, shielding himself from the small beams of light shrining through the blinds.

"Well yes, but you have a way of making it look oh so dreamy, Mr. Styles. You can pull off a pout. It suits you well."

"Oh, fuck you. No it doesn't. You're just trying to make me laugh so I feel better. News flash: I am a complete whiny bitch when I'm feeling ill. You'll never get me to smile."

And without warning, I jump on top of Harry's lap and my fingers begin to run up and down his sides. Harry digs his fingers into my waist as he tries to pull me off of him, but I stay close to him, holding my ground. I tickle him harshly, not showing any mercy, and within moments he is laughing louder than I've ever heard him before. His eyes snap shut and he is close to tears within a minute. Finally, I relieve him and clamber off. He sucks in a much needed gasp of air.

"You little- I have asthma! You can't tickle me! I could have choked!" Harry yells with a smirk, and for a moment, I think he is joking, but the honesty in his eyes makes my smile fall. Guilt trickles through me.

"Wait, seriously?"

"Mhm, hmm." Harry rises and extends his arms out in front of him. He grabs the base of his stomach, and takes a long, slow breath. By the unsteady sound of the action, I know he was definitely telling me the truth.

"I didn't know... I'm so sorry, I didn't-"

"It's fine. I don't tell many people because it's not that bad. I only have attacks when I can't breathe. For the most part, I'm fine. I've trained my lungs to kind of... Deal with it." Harry admits with a sort of apprehension.